


Things We Lost.

by growlithes



Category: The Outsiders - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Depression, Suicide mention, but what else is new???, in which i get emo over johnny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlithes/pseuds/growlithes
Summary: a drabble about the boy that is johnny cade.





	

johnny cade does not cry.

he does not cry at the stream of profanity and slurs that leave his mothers mouth when something doesn’t go her way, moments after she failed to acknowledge his existence; her voice practically shattering the silence of the outside world, her howls of unjustified fury flooding the streets in the dead of night. he does not cry when his father denounces his very being before planting a garden of violet and sickly yellow across his callousing flesh, like flowers fresh in bloom; the sight of raised belts and scarlet-stained fists drilled into his brain. he does not cry in the quiet and dark of his room at night, where he is safe from prying eyes —— mind buzzing with idle white noise and wonderings of tomorrow. 

someone always asks, about the new bruises or wicked scars that are a little too visible for his liking. they’re always concerned, worrying, making promises of a sweet, sweet, though bitter to consider, freedom that they can’t keep, no matter how many times they say it over again. he doesn’t willingly make himself vulnerable in those moments, either glancing away as if he’d never heard their words or replying with short, vague answers that were hardly satisfying. but they had learned that it was no use, trying to shake information out of him, and only tormenting the kid further. even when the pieces were put together, and the whole gang found out seemingly simultaneously about the origin of his broken body, they did not stop asking.

johnny cade does not cry.

when he was sitting alone in that vacant lot, trembling arms wrapped around raised knees and bloodied face pressed into worn denim, he did not cry. the tears that were shed at the images that flashed in his mind as the sun began to sink into the earth of four men, lashing out at him and spewing utter bullshit (that he, admittedly, believed with every fiber of his being) about how worthless he was, about how they might as well just kill him then and there —— how they’d be doing the world a favor —— and the sob that wracked his chest not even close to “crying”. streaks of vermillion stained his cheeks, chest heaving with each inhale, throat growing hoarse and the noises that managed to slip through his busted lips eventually softening as his body refused to properly respond to the aching of his bones. 

when the gang found him, much to his surprise, the boy was half-blind and half-conscious; mind muddled by the blood loss and the blows to the head that were beginning to take their toll on him. he’d damn near snapped at them, flinching when a hand was offered to bring him to his feet —— eyes still blurred and burning, the words he wanted to say coming out in an inarticulate mess. eventually, it’s soda and two-bit who encourage (or so to speak) dally and darry to be careful, leave him alone, give him some space. for the rest of the week, no one in the gang could find him; only knowing he was still alive thanks to the painful-to-listen-to screaming of his mother a block down. 

johnny cade does not cry.

he did not cry when he practically sliced open his heart to two-bit in the middle of the night in that empty lot, loathing and terror and sadness and concerning apathy all merging into one as he described every little detail about his home life and the agony gnawing at him ever since he’d been jumped to him. two-bit stayed silent throughout it all, listening intently. he could only stare when he finished, whole body shaking and breathing heavy and his fingers curled all up in that ruffled black mess of hair on his head. silence drifted between them for the longest time, the apology that eventually began to come out interrupted by the unexpected hug given, two-bit nearly breaking his fucking ribs with the strength of it.

warm breath sent opaque puffs slipping through, the cold night air filled with quiet whispers of reassurance and heart-wrenching confessions as the boys sat shoulder-to-shoulder —— an arm wrapped, unmoving, around johnny’s, in an attempt to soothe his trembling frame. the next morning, he’d waited; waited for two-bit to tell he gang everything, for them to come running and treating him like the lost child he was not. it never happened. birds sang in the early morning light, pale and warm again his brown skin, a soft mist hanging over the city and encasing it in golden ichor. everything was calm —— everything was the same. every now and again, two-bit offered him this wide grin that made his heart sink and anxiety spike. that night was their secret. he wouldn’t tell anyone, just like johnny wouldn’t. he had to trust in that fact.

johnny cade does not cry.

him getting beat was one thing. him being tossed around, helpless, like a bag in the river, and being split cheek to cheek, was nothing. he was used to the pain, used to the feeling of blood heating up scarily cold gooseflesh. when he’s knocked to the ground and has his ribs kicked in the second he even so much as attempts to sit up, he gets the message —— stays down, aching, momentarily obedient as his mind starts to go fuzzy from the panic and agony. but then ponyboy is screaming, and the soc’s are laughing and he doesn’t know what’s happening, and everything just sort of collapses in on itself and next thing he knows, johnny is brandishing a switch blade at the one and only bob sheldon. 

before he has any idea what he’s doing, the glint of silver is burying itself in bob’s back, his shirt instantly blooming a deep rust, his companions scattering with terrified shouts. he doesn’t remember dragging pony out of the fountain, soaked and unconscious, or curling up on the ground as he watched the life get sucked out of bob. he doesn’t remember. he doesn’t remember. what he does remember, though, is his chest hurting something awful, and the feeling of blood gushing through his fingers and staining the sleeves of his denim jacket. he doesn’t cry, when ponyboy finally stirs, or when he asks him what the hell just happened —— the broken sob that knocks the breath out of him and follows them all the way to buck’s sitting in his chest, unwavering, like a shotgun wound that refused to close. he doesn’t cry when dallas puts a loaded gun in his hand, and helps them run away to some far off hill in some far off land away from this mess.

because johnny cade doesn’t fucking cry.

flames lick hungrily at his body, small, scared frames protected by his own shattered one, and the ash does not cease to fall upon him even once they are in safe hands. red and orange blaze all around him, and he’s hyperventilating, trying to get low, trying to avoid the worst of the smoke and debris —— but it’s too late. black clouds his lungs, and all he breathes is the toxicity in the air; a strangled shout just barely reaching his ears, consumed by the roaring of the fire closing in on him, before the world goes white, the very lord himself engulfing the greaser as he’s dragged from the burning church.

unbearable heat is replaced by an uncomfortable chill in the blink of an eye. the hospital bed beneath him is the last thing he wanted to be lying in right now, and there are these voices that pierce his eardrums like a knife. frame is stiff as his eyes crack open, dry, the boy focusing mostly on just how sore he was; until he realizes a hand is resting on his arm, and it’s dally and ponyboy, staring down at him anxiously. his brain is leaking white noise, and dally starts going on about how he’s a hero, how he’s proud of him, and it sets his heart alight and he wants to hold on to this, but he can’t, and he knows it, and he starts talking to dally and pony (not quite processing the words that leave his own mouth), and, and, and.

he sinks into the bed.

johnny cade does not cry.


End file.
